


thrashing

by writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)



Series: sleep [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Timeline Where John Didn't Die, BDSM, Canon Era, Domme Eliza, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sub Alex, mentions of flogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/pseuds/writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is no one's submissive, but he has been a soldier.</p><p>Which means he's all too familiar with taking orders when he disagrees with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thrashing

**Author's Note:**

> Should I actually write the fic where John lives- that discusses how he became disabled in the war and ends up coming to live with the Hamiltons because of it- and how their relationship forms?
> 
> probs.  
> instead please enjoy this fic which is a one shot based off a fic I've never written

The body at the foot of the bed was still shaking and John longed to crawl over there, to pin him down and place kisses all over his face until the man calmed. But the hand on John's shoulder before Eliza had disappeared out of the room had been clear enough, direct orders didn't always have to be spoken and while he's never been in Alex's position, never been a submissive, he has been a soldier.

Following orders is something he can do.

When Eliza reappears, she's wearing her shift again and carrying a small bowl. Part of him is aggravated that she's taken the time to redress- especially considering Alex hasn't stopped vibrating since before she left. Red marks line his back, angry welts that will almost definitely hurt for days to come, and John tells himself he doesn't hold that against her. After all, they'd fought a war together, if anyone knew what Alexander could get like, it was John.

Except back then they'd fought side by side, and Alex, it seemed, could get what he needed most days from the battlefield. When he couldn't, there was never a shortage of young men, drunk off beer and ready to defend against both imagined and real slights. At the time, John had assumed Alex's apparent desire to remain bruised at all times was similar to his own, the adrenaline of the war quietened for nothing less.

Maybe it was still the same, maybe the sickness had never left Alex. Maybe John would have desired the same if his leg didn't already scream constantly, a distracting background noise to this thing he can barely call a life.

There's a bitterness in the thought process and John chews on the inside of his cheek to settle himself, to keep from saying something that might get him ejected from this bed and sent back to his own rooms.

He doesn't agree with Eliza's methods, but he does respect that she's known this side of Hamilton for longer than he has.

"John," the woman's voice draws him out of his head, "Are you able to move your leg? If not, may I help you? I'd like it if you held his shoulders down and you aren't quite in the position to do that."

John says nothing, just grits his teeth and physically moves his leg with his hands. It burns, but these days there is little that doesn't cause the muscles to complain and she wouldn't have asked if she didn't think it important. If she didn't believe that his touch could help calm their Alexander.

At least, that is what he tells himself to get through it.

There was a time he would have gladly died for the man, and considering the lashing he's just received, damn if John will allow pain to stop him from offering the small amount of comfort he can afford to give.

Eliza does not thank him, but he doesn't expect it. There are times when they are fond of one another, but they are not required to spare kindness, not for this. They need only a desire to take care of the slight man who she is currently rearranging between his legs.

It always fills him with awe to see how easily Alex allows himself to be moved after a thrashing- as if all the fight has been taken out of him and he can finally rest. There are tear tracks down the man's cheekbones and John collects them with a swipe of his thumb as if removing the evidence can make the hurt go away. A strange silence fills the air until he remembers what he's been asked to do, and he sighs to himself as he presses Alex's chest into the bed, forcing his body still so that his wife may clean the damage she has done to his back.

When Alex whines this time, no one shushes him, no one hands him something to bite down on, no one asks him to silence himself. Instead John shifts, ignoring the protest in his leg so that he press down on Alex's back with one forearm and stroke his hair with the other. Before he knows it Eliza is moving again, putting away the bowl and rag and fetching instead a small pot of ointment to rub into lash mark, a precautionary measure against infection. By the time she is through, there are no more small noises coming from Alexander and John's back cracks as he straightens himself to lean back against the headboard.

They should ask him to move, at the very least so that John can readjust his leg- so that John can return to his own bed and Eliza can take her rightful place at Alexander's side. But there is a stillness and a peace in the body on the bed, and they've just worked so hard to get it there that it doesn't seem right to rob him of it.

Eliza gives him a questioning look, and then because perhaps she has found the answer she is looking for, asks him if he'd like a blanket. John nods, knowing his leg will feel like murder in the morning if he doesn't at least try and lay down- but that is nothing compared to what Alex stands to gain from the slumber he has fought so hard to achieve. 

The quilt she hands him, and the knowledge that he is the one that gets to sleep in the Hamilton's bed tonight instead of his wife, will have to serve as their own comfort.


End file.
